Never Say Never
by TriggerHappyWorld
Summary: Now that 'Acceptable Loss' has aired, I have decided to continue this story, and to make it Part 2 in a new series. Please see Author's Note for chapter 1. This story takes place after LOCI's Season 10, but before SVU's Season 14 episode of 'Acceptable Loss'.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Okay, my take on the SVU episode "Acceptable Loss" featuring Eames. Part 2 in new series. Part 1 is 'Bleeding Drops of Red'. Please read that if haven't already. Thank you.

Pairing: B/A

Rating: T mostly

Disclaimer: I own what I've created; Dick Wolf owns all else.

Enjoy!

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_August 20__th__, 2011_

He had just checked the food in the oven when he heard a knock at the door. Grabbing a hand towel off the counter, he wiped his hands as he hurried to the back door. Pulling it open, he saw Alex standing there with a box in her hands.

Alex greeted him with a warm smile as she held up the box. "I brought cake."

Smiling as he felt the slight embarrassment crept up his neck, he took the container from her as she pulled him down for a hug.

As she drew back, Alex gave him a soft kiss on his cheek before pushing him away so she could come in. "It smells great in here. Lasagna?"

"My mother's recipe. It should be done in half an hour. Wine?" he asked as he shut the door and locked it.

"Please and thank you."

Bobby looked her over as he put the box down on the counter. She was wearing a skirt that went down to her knees, long heels, and a dark colored blouse. It was Sunday so he wondered if she had come from church. He remembered her telling him that she was trying to get back into the routine of going to mass. Going over to the cabinets, he pulled down another wineglass and filled it with the red wine. Handing it to her, he picked up his own glass, which was nearly empty, and topped it off.

"A toast," she said as she raised her glass to his. "Here's to surviving fifty years, and hoping for fifty more. Happy birthday, Bobby," she told him as she clicked her glass against his.

As he took a sip of the wine, he thought about that last part and felt that was what the last fifty years of his life was like. A survival.

"Did you ever think you would get this old?"

Bobby chuckled as he shook his head, answering, "Honestly, no, I didn't. I thought that my life would be like that Who song…you know the line that goes: 'I hope I die before I get old'."

"And now?"

Smiling softly, he told her, "I'm glad I'm still here. It's actually not as bad as I thought it would be."

Alex smiled at him as she said, "I'm glad you're here too. So," she said as she looked around, "am I your only guest?"

"Yep. Just you, me, a bottle of wine, lasagna, and _cake_," he said as he opened the box and looked at the cursive writing on top of the birthday cake. "Red velvet with whipped cream icing, right?"

"Of course," she told him as she took a drink of the wine. There was a loaf of French bread on the counter along with a dish with homemade dipping oil. Alex broke off a piece of the bread and dipped it in the dish. After taking a bite, she hummed in pleasure.

"Also one of my mother's recipes."

"It's wonderful, what's in it?"

Bobby smiled as he shook his head, saying, "It's a secret." When she rolled her eyes, he laughed a little more. "C'mon, it's not hard to make this stuff. Just some olive oil, oregano, basil, and garlic."

"And?"

He tilted his head and eyed her. When she wouldn't back down, he grinned. "I'm not telling…family secret."

"You're supposed to pass on recipes like these, not keep them a secret."

"Fine," he said as he downed the rest of the wine in his glass. "When I die I'll be sure to leave it in my will, just for you."

"Great, that means I'll have to wait another fifty years for it."

"I doubt I'm going to live to a hundred, Eames. But, I appreciate the thought."

Alex broke off another piece and handed it to him. He took it and started to eat as they waited for the rest of the food to get done. While he prepared a salad, she disappeared into the rest of the apartment. Bobby didn't know what she was doing or cared for that matter. He trusted her in his home. A few minutes later, he heard a soft saxophone drifting into the kitchen and smiled. She had found his CD collection.

He heard her come back into the room and said, "Jazz?"

"It was already in the player, and I thought it would be better than the Rolling Stones."

"Aw, c'mon, Alex," he said as he turned around with the bowl of salad. "You know I've got the moves like Jagger." Alex started laughing as he danced across the floor like Mick Jagger. He put the bowl on the table and then opened the refrigerator door to get out the dressing. "Ranch?"

"Well that depends if you have creamy Italian?"

"Yeah, and it's low fat," he said as he grabbed it and shut the door.

Alex was already dishing out the salad onto separate plates as he sat the dressing down before taking the bread and oil dish off the counter and bringing it over to the table.

Once they were both seated, and digging into the salad, she asked, "She sounds great. Who is this?"

Bobby listened to the music for a second before telling her, "Bonnie J. Jensen…A song called 'Angel Eyes'. She has a great voice. One of my favorites…after Billie Holiday."

"I'm going to have to borrow this from you and burn a copy of it on my computer."

He smiled over at her as he picked up the wine bottle and refilled his empty glass. The way he was going through the wine, he was going to have to open up a new bottle before the lasagna was even done cooking. Ah, to hell with it. It was his birthday. He would get drunk on red wine if he wanted.

And right then, he wanted.

The timer went off and he immediately jumped up. As he got the lasagna out of the oven, Alex got down two plates. He dished them out a couple of pieces each and then sat back down. He watched as Alex sprinkled parmesan cheese all over hers before handing it to him. He waved it away as he watched her for a long moment.

Alex noticed his look and asked as she picked up her knife and fork. "What is it?"

Bobby had invited her over for a couple of reasons. Yes, it was his birthday and he didn't want to spend it alone, but also because he had something he wanted to talk to her about. Something he'd been thinking about for months now. Taking a breath, he simply told her, "I want to leave the NYPD."

She stared at him for a moment in silence, looking stunned before she quickly recovered. Then, her expression softened as she smiled knowingly at him. "How did I know something like this was coming."

"Did you?" he asked in confusion.

"In a way, I guess. All the changes I've been seeing in you. The therapy's helping," she explained as she sat the fork and knife down. The lasagna forgotten for the moment.

"But…?"

She laughed a little, shaking her head. "No buts. I think it's great."

He saw the sincerity in her eyes and knew she wasn't lying, but still, he had to let her know why. He didn't want her to ever have any doubts about his reasons. "And this time…it'll be on my own terms," Bobby said with a soft, genuinely content smile. "You know that I can't keep doing this forever. I wish I could, but…I'm fifty, Alex. I should be a Captain by now, or at least a Lieutenant in order to prolong my career. Running around, chasing after criminals at my age, well…I'm tired."

"You don't have to justify this decision to me, Bobby. I completely understand. Just yesterday I was thinking the same thing. I'm not getting any younger either, but unlike you, I did make Lieutenant."

He smiled at her and raised his wine glass to her. "And look at where you are. Still a detective," he said right before he took a sip.

"Because I didn't want it," she stressed to him again. "At least not at the price they made me pay for it. If it had been different, done differently, than yeah."

"But you stayed anyway."

Alex eyed him as she said, "I transferred, there's a difference."

He gave a nod as he picked up his fork and started in on his food. "And now?"

"And now I'm thinking of taking up a more…cozy position," she said as she did the same.

Bobby smirked as he took a bite. "_Cozy_. I don't think anything in law enforcement is cozy."

"How about less hectic."

"Any ideas of what you'll do?"

Alex gave a shrug, saying, "I've got options. I know someone in Homeland Security who's been trying to get me to on her team for years."

"Nice; that'll be a good fit for you," he told her in all honestly.

"How about you?"

Bobby gave that question some thought, the same thoughts he'd been going over for the past couple of months now. "You're not the only one with options. I've been talking with Hannah about being a consultant, you know, going freelance profiler." They both laughed at that as he picked up the glass. "Hopefully, word spreads and I can consult with outside departments. Go all over the country, maybe even the world. But, if not, the department always needs teachers, lectures for the police academy."

Alex glanced up at him with a bemused smirk on her face. "I can't see you in a classroom. You'll go crazy with anxious energy and drive your student's nuts."

"Yeah, maybe," he agreed with a chuckle. "I'll work it out though. I know people; got friends in the FBI, CID…Don't worry about me, I'll end up somewhere. However, the most important thing I want to do is be free, you know. To be left alone to do what I do best and not have to worry about the brass and everything that goes along with it. I'm done, over it. It's my life and I'm ready to take control of it. At best, I only have another thirty years…so why not make the best of what I got left?"

Alex chewed on a piece of garlic bread as she stared over at him. "Maybe I should see your shrink. I need your optimism."

"You're the last person who needs to see my shrink. If there's one thing I do know, it's that you're going to be just fine. You're strong…resilient, practical, and you don't have anything to worry about. You don't have my problems."

"Hey, you're doing pretty okay for yourself too, Goren. You're not as angry as you used to be," she told him while pointing her fork at him to emphasize her tone.

"'Not as' doesn't mean 'not'. I'm still angry, but, yeah, it's not as out of control as it used to be. But, each day that goes by, it's a struggle," he tried to explain as his thoughts took over his head. "I know that part of that struggle is due to the job. I've convinced myself that I need the structure to stay focused and to-to, to have a _purpose_…in my life. Now, I'm thinking, I don't need that structure. I want to be able to work when I want to work, or to sleep in when I feel like it. I want control over the cases I take, and when. To have time to just…relax and to catch up on everything I haven't been able to do for years. I want to start to really enjoy life outside the job instead of working myself to death." He took a moment to take a sip of the wine as he remember the feeling he'd been having for days, even months now. And the dreams that feeling had caused. "You know," he said as he swirled the wineglass between his fingers. "I had a dream the other night…We was working a case, and we were in a house. And, uh…you were there but in a separate part of the house we were searching or…something, I don't remember why we were there, but…I, uh…I started to feel panicky, I couldn't breathe and then…I heard someone come into the room. It was a man…I guess he was the suspect. Anyway, he had a gun and he was pointing it at me and instead of drawing my own gun…I collapsed."

"What happened?"

Bobby glanced up at her and said, "It was a heart attack. I remember staring at the ceiling of the house with this man standing over me…and I was dying. Not from being shot, but from my own heart. That got me thinking…I need to slow down, and being a detective until I'm sixty-five isn't going to work. I'll probably die before I get there."

Alex reached over and took his hand, stilling his movements. "Bobby, it's okay. You have to do what you have to do. We all change. We all get older and realize we have to make some serious life decisions. Like I said before, I completely get that and I'm at a crossroads in my life as well. It's not as dramatic as yours, but I'm right there with you. If you want to leave, then leave. Go live your life, you deserve that."

He squeezed her hand and held it for a couple long moments. With a smile, he looked up at her and gave a nod, saying, "Okay. Thanks."

"I don't know what you're thanking me for."

"We're partners," he stressed. "And I know in the past I wasn't…I would make decisions about our partnership without consulting you first, which was wrong of me to do that. I didn't want to do that this time."

Wrinkling her head in confusion, she asked, "So you made me dinner, on your birthday, and got me drunk?"

"You're not drunk."

"Not yet," she said with a smirk as she picked up her glass and finished it off.

Bobby picked up the bottle and poured her another before topping off his glass. They went back to the food and ate in comfortable silence as they both thought about what was just said while listening to the music drifting through the rooms.

As Etta James' voice filled the apartment with the song '_Don't Explain_', he lounged back on his couch, glass of wine in his hand, and closed his eyes just as the saxophone kicked in. God, the sound the sax made shot right to his heart, to his soul. He felt the shivers that the solo always given him rush up his arms and then down his spine.

He felt her sit down next to him and lean back. Lifting his arm up, he didn't open his eyes as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and held her close. She didn't speak until the song was over, which he was thankful for. He loved that song.

"I notice you have a thing for the women jazz singers."

He felt the smile twist at his lips as he opened his eyes to look over at her. Alex was looking as relaxed and happy as he felt. Her bare feet were propped up next to his on the coffee table and she held her wineglass in her hands. "They were the best I think. Granted, their were some great men, Frank Sinatra, Nate King Cole, Ray Charles,…Louis Armstrong. But, something about the women…" he trailed off as he let out a shiver.

Alex just laughed. "I think it's because you're a man. You find their voices sexy."

"They are sexy," he lightly said as he returned to listening to the a piano solo. "I bet you swoon over Sinatra."

"I don't swoon."

He started to laugh as he said, "Yeah, right. There's got to be a man's voice, that when he sings…it hits you and it's…just…orgasmic."

Alex started laughing as she said, "Okay, I give you that, but it's not ol' blue eyes."

"How can it not be? As a man, I would give anything to have his voice. I mean, listen to '_One More For the Road_' and tell me honestly that you don't swoon over hearing that. Hell, I've swooned over his voice."

She kept laughing and never answered his question. Bringing the glass up to his lips, he didn't much care if she ever answered. She could keep the answer to herself if she wanted. It could remain hers.

"Want a piece of cake?"

Opening his eyes, he went to put his glass down and get up when Alex patted his leg.

She got up while telling him, "I've got it," before going into the kitchen.

He listened to her getting down plates and opening drawers before getting up and heading in after her. Going over to the cabinets, he found the other bottle of wine. "Want some more?"

"Are your intentions to get me drunk so I can't drive home?"

"You're already drunk and can't drive home," he told her as he found the corkscrew. Opening the bottle, he let it breathe as he grabbed his plate and fork and followed her back into the living room.

He refilled their glasses before taking a big bite out of the cake and humming delight.

"Good?"

"Mmmm," he hummed again in pleasure as he leaned back on the couch and propped his feet back up on the table.

Alex did the same and soon they were once again eating in comfortable silence, enjoying each other's company and the music.

Looking over at her once done, he asked while bringing the wineglass to his lips, "Did you come from church?"

"I wondered how long it would take you to ask me that," Alex said as she shifted to lay down long ways across his couch. She propped her feet up in his lap and smiled. "I did. I went with my sister and her husband, and my nephew, on Staten Island." She looked him over for a moment before asking, "how're you doing?"

He knew she wasn't asking about how he felt right at that moment. Every Sunday for years, he had visited his mother. Since her death he had struggled with his weekend routine. He had struggled with not having his mother there, with not visiting her every Sunday despite the outcome. It had become a part of his life and when it had stopped, he nearly stopped.

Taking a drink of the wine, he honestly told her, "I'm doing better. I've made it a routine now to visit her gravesite every Sunday, take her flowers…" he tried not to think about also visiting Frank's grave right along with his mother's. It was still hard and the thought always reminded him that he was now alone. Besides a nephew he never saw, and distant cousins and Aunts and Uncles, he had no family. He was the only one left. "It's better," he meekly said again and left it at that.

Alex didn't push for him to elaborate and he appreciated it. Instead, she gave him a soft smile and a nudge with her foot, telling him, "It takes time, and you're doing good, Bobby. Remember, you're still here."

As he peered over at her, he felt the heaviness of the day set in as his eyelids drifted closed. He was feeling so tired that it took a lot of effort to open his eyes, and when he did, he saw Alex leaning up. She closed the distance between them and he barely had time to think before she kissed him…on the lips.

They both stared at each other for a long moment after before he asked, "What was that for?"

Alex gave a shrug, telling him softly, like it was a secret between the two of them, "I felt like it and I wanted to, so…I did it." She leaned in and did it again, but this time he was ready and responded by kissing her right back. After a couple of soft kisses, she pulled back again and said, "Happy birthday," before getting up off the couch. "I'll take the couch."

"You can have my bed."

Glancing over her shoulder at him as she headed to the kitchen, she asked, "Are you sure?"

He gave a nod as she smiled and then went into the kitchen. A couple of seconds later she reemerged and headed to the hallway.

Stopping at the couch, she leaned down and gave him one more kiss before telling him, "Have a good night, and get some sleep. We work tomorrow."

"Yeah, uh…work," he said as he watched as she disappeared around the corner.

Sitting back against the couch, he took a sip of the wine as he thought about that kiss and what it meant, if anything. Breathing out deeply, he closed his eyes and shook his head. If Alex was trying to confuse and torture him, it was working. Finishing off the wine, he got up and took the glass to the kitchen.

Making sure everything was cleaned up and put away, he went to the couch and laid down, turned the music down low, and with a small smile on his face, closed his eyes. Before he knew it, he was asleep.

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

Spoilers: Season 8 episode 'Playing Dead'.

Warning: Language, adult situations and relations, violence, sensitive subjects with mentions of abuse, child sexual abuse, suicide, and drug references.

Enjoy!

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_One Week Later_

As he turned the corner on the last street before he hit water, he slowed as he took in the sand dune ahead of him and then beyond that the Atlantic Ocean.

The house they were staying in was the last house on the beach road. It was grey in color, white trim, and had two wrap-around porches, one of each floor of the house. Pulling up into the driveway, he hit the button that opened the garage door and slowly pulled in and parked.

He turned off the engine and looked over at Alex who was dozing in the passenger seat before glancing in the rearview mirror. The young woman they were protecting had yet to say anything for the entire drive. Stacey Hayes-Fitzgerald stared out of the side window but had yet to register that the car had stopped. Bobby knew she was mentally preoccupied.

Being almost killed in a car bomb just a few days ago would make anyone a little distant, but being almost killed by someone hired by your own stepfather...Well, he couldn't blame her wanting to be numb. What saved her life was a bodyguard her mother, Josie, had paid to watch her since she started receiving death threats soon after the start of her step-father's trial.

Stacey had survived, but the bodyguard, Jay Irvin, was killed when he used his body to shield hers from the explosion. Stacey didn't come out unscratched however; she was bruised with a few major cuts that required stitches. The worst of her injuries was her left shoulder. It had been dislocated when Irvin threw her to the ground.

The case, even though it had ended for him over two years ago, had gone on while he was thrown into another case, and then his firing, before he knew it twenty-six months had past. It had gone through the stages: dispositions, pre-trial motions and the usual push-and-pull from the prosecution and the defense until now.

Through it all, Stacey, the main witness against the abuses of her stepfather, had held her own. She had remained strong against the media outcry and all the accusations by her stepfather and his mother. The bombing and Irvin's death had shaken that resolve.

Nearly dying, and knowing that it was to silence her, had set her back in her healing. Hopefully in the next week or two, before she took the stand at the trial, they could get her back to that sense of empowerment that had given her the courage to face her abuser.

"Stacey, we're here."

She tore her eyes away from the window and looked around the interior of the department issue SUV. He saw the surprise in her eyes but she still didn't speak as she pushed open the door, grabbed her purse and backpack, and then got out.

Bobby looked at his sleeping partner and sighed. He really hated to wake her but he wasn't about to let her sleep in the car all night. "Eames, wake up. Eames," he said again as he gently shook her shoulder.

Alex grumbled into the hoodie she had balled up to use as a pillow. He smiled slightly at her irritation as he opened his door.

"Finally," she mumbled as she unbuckled her seatbelt and rubbed at her eyes. "I hear a bed calling my name."

He wished he could say the same but he felt the energy pulsing through him as he rounded the car and opened the back hatch to the cargo area. His mind was turning with the Hayes-Fitzgerald case and the young woman who he hadn't talked to in years.

He remembered being the only one to get through to her, to help her stop living in denial, and to own up to her obligation of not only the victim but as the mother of her child/step-sister. He wondered what Stacey's relationship with Sophie was like now; if she ever told her the truth.

Bobby shouldered two bags then took hold of three more as Alex appeared next to him.

"I can take one or two," she said as she reached out to take the one out of his right hand. On her shoulders was her laptop case and purse.

He let her carry a bag as he slammed the trunk close with his elbow then headed to the door. When he looked up, he noticed Stacey standing there waiting. "Oh, sorry," he apologized as he quickly hurried to the door, dropped a bag, and then unlocked it using the only other key on the keychain besides the one to the SUV.

Stacey went in first and he followed, Alex came in behind him to shut the door. He heard her click the lock in place as he surveyed the interior of the house.

When Hannah gave him the address to the safe house, a colonial three-story on Long Beach, this wasn't what he had in mind. Going down the long hallway, he could see the wide open living room ahead of him and beyond that the glass windows and sliding door that lead out onto the porch. Then beyond the porch was the sandy beach and the ocean. He couldn't see it, but he could hear the waves hitting the shore and smell the salt in the air.

Off his right just inside the garage door was the kitchen and to his left was a dining room. He continued down the hall, walking into the foyer and looked up the staircase toward the second floor and then toward the back of the house. Dropping the bags at the foot of the stairs, he made his way down the hall and took out his gun. Around the right corner at the back of the house was a breakfast nook that overlooked the yard. To the left was another room, almost like a family room, that lead into the living room where he saw Stacey standing as she peered out the sliding door toward the ocean.

He stepped around her and unlocked the sliding door to go out. Once on the porch, he took in his surroundings and the fact that they were basically secluded. On the next street over there was a huge open lot where a house once stood and the house next to theirs was vacated; he had seen a 'For Sale' sign out front when he'd driven by.

"Upstairs is clear," Alex said as she came out onto the porch. "I haven't checked the basement." She kept the porch light off just as he had when she came out. "This makes me miss living in Rockaway; waking up every morning to the smell of salt on the air."

Bobby holstered his weapon as he said, "Well, I think we're actually going to be safe here. And Hannah said that besides us, he's the only one who knows our location."

"Right, the less people who know the better," she said, speaking the words he heard coming out of Joe's mouth nearly eleven hours ago. Alex looked at her watch and frowned. "Two a.m. and there's nothing in the kitchen. We should have stopped to pick something up on the way."

"If you hadn't fallen asleep, you could've reminded me."

Alex shot him a look as she smirked, "It was a long drive."

"Huh-huh," he teased back.

"And if you hadn't called me at three in the morning yesterday, I wouldn't have been exhausted. I can't go twenty-four hours with no sleep anymore like I used to."

Bobby would have shot something back at her if he hadn't walked into an empty room. Looking around and not seeing their witness anywhere, he headed further into the house. The large duffel bag that had been Stacey's was missing from the pile at the foot of the staircase. He picked up his own bag, his briefcase/laptop bag, and headed up the stairs in search of a room.

He heard Alex climbing up the steps after him and when he looked over his shoulder, he asked, "Need help?"

"Bite me."

Barely controlling his laugh, he shrugged his shoulders and headed to the right once he got to the landing. "You're the one who said you were getting too old for this."

"I never said that. All I said was that I actually like sleeping, unlike you."

"You can't get anything done in your sleep," he said off-handily as he studied the layout of the second floor.

It was a three bedroom, two bath, and he immediately realized that the master bedroom was occupied. He didn't mind Stacey taking the bigger room; she was his main priority and if the space made her feel more comfortable then he would let her have it. He continued down the hall and got to the bathroom and peered in. It looked as big as his kitchen at home. It had a Jacuzzi tub and a separate shower stall and two sinks. Roomy, he liked that.

Coming upon the other bedroom, he kicked open the door with his foot and stepped inside. The room was furnished with a queen size bed, dresser, walk-in closet, a flat-screen TV was mounted on the wall across from the bed, and on the far wall by the window was a desk with internet hookup.

He dropped his duffel bag on the bed and sat his briefcase bag on the desk then unzipped both compartments. He pulled his laptop out of one slot along with his binder; out of the other compartment he pulled out the case files he had on the case; not only the attempted murder of Stacey, but also the original case file.

Back in Manhattan, Detectives Ronny Douglas and Kristen Hurt were working on tracking down the hired hit-man who had tried to kill Stacey and had succeeded in killing Jay Irvin. Bobby figured it would be good to review the file and try to help. Plus, he also had to freshen up on the case seeing how he and Eames both had to testify as well in the upcoming trial.

He plugged in the laptop and as he waited for it to boot up, he hooked up his cell phone to the computer to charge-seeing how there was no landline-and then left the room.

Alex was closing the door to the master bedroom when he entered the hallway. Looking up at him, she smiled a little. "She's out like a light."

"Go ahead and get some sleep. I'm going to be up for a while," he told her as he went into the bathroom and closed the door.

It had been a long drive and he didn't stop for any reason expect to refill the gas tank. Once he was done in the bathroom, he went back into the bedroom and froze.

Alex was sitting cross-legged on the bed and flipping through their copy of the case files. She had turned on the bedside lamp and it cast a dim glow over the room. "Alex-"

"I napped in the car. Besides, you weren't the only one affected by this case. Neil Hayes-Fitzgerald, I can't believe he plead not guilty."

"He hasn't accepted responsibility; he still thinks Stacey's to blame. Child pedophiles, you know, they don't think like the rest of us. To him, he did nothing wrong. She seduced him." Bobby sat down at the desk and opened his NYPD email account. After typing in his password, he turned in the chair to look at Alex.

"Well, I for one can't wait until he gets on the stand and tries to sell that bull to the jury." She looked up at him and asked, "Are we sure it's him and not his mother? If I remember correctly, she was the one that hired the hit-man to kill Stacey's blackmailing, crack-head boyfriend."

"Siebert," Bobby said as he picked up his binder and sat it next to the laptop. "Rick Siebert. And I thought about Neil's mother too, but I don't know. I mean, she could have resorted back to her old ways, trying to protect him, clean up his messes. "

"But?"

"But, somehow, I dont think it's her. She turned her back on him when she realized that he wasn't going to change, that he had ruined everything she'd built for him. Once she realized that he wasn't going to be the Golden Boy councilman, running for Mayor...she gave herself up, and him."

"Yeah, but she's also a mother. You saw her in the interrogation room, crying with him and saying that she'll always love him. She had done everything before to protect him, why not now?"

"Because she no longer has anything to protect," Bobby explained as he saw a message from Douglas sent to him at 5:32 that evening. "Her drive to protect him for all those years wasn't solely because he was her son. What she was really protecting was his reputation, his career. Now there's nothing to salvage."

"Where is she anyway? Camille, right?"

Bobby nodded as he confirmed her remembrance of the woman's name. "I don't know. Last I heard she cut a deal to flip on her son, testify against him. I think she's in some fancy woman's prison."

"Fancy? Prison?

He smirked as he opened the email and the attached files. A few seconds later, his smile faded. "Shit."

"What is it?" Alex asked as she came up beside him and looked over his shoulder. Much like he always did to her at work.

"It's from Ronny. The lead they had on a fingerprint found on recovered debris belonged to a Daniel Barz, but it's a dead end."

"Dead, as in not breathing?"

"Exactly. They found his body in a storage unit at his apartment building. M.E. report puts time of death, uh...at least 48 hours before the hit on Stacey."

"Great, we have nothing." Alex sighed as she sat back down on the bed. "What was cause of death?"

"It was uh, undetermined when this was sent." Bobby watched her a moment before saying, "We've got time. As long as we're here, she's safe."

She looked up at him and nodded. "I know."

"Good, because my second wind has died down." He saw her smirk and knew what was coming before she said it.

"Now who's sounding old. Twenty-four hours is your limit now, Goren? I'm shocked."

"Yeah, well, what can I say, I'm not as young as I used to be, and sleep does sound good."

"I think I can hear this bed calling your name."

He smiled right back as she started to gather the papers and photos up into the file.

Tossing it on the desk, she said, "Get some rest, partner. I'll see you in the morning."

Bobby watched as she left the room and then turned back to the email. He hit the reply button and wrote Douglas a quick email pertaining to his thoughts on the case and the newly discovered body, before powering down the laptop.

Alex was right, it was time to get some rest; however, once he was rid of his clothes and under the covers, staring at the ceiling, sleep was hard to come by.

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: If you haven't read the first part to this, "Bleeding Drops of Red" then some of this isn't going to make sense. So just warning you now to spare confusion. Oh, and thank you whole heartedly for the reviews! Keep 'em coming!

Enjoy!

* * *

Bobby got up three hours later and was showered and dressed before the sun broke over the horizon. Going down into the kitchen, he took in the empty cabinets and refrigerator and yearned for a cup of coffee. His head was starting to pound from lack of caffeine as he pulled out his cell phone. Using the internet on his cell he found a few local diners that were open at five in the morning.

The closest place to their location was a place called The Fisherman's Friend , and it started serving breakfast at five. The diner was a good friend indeed to start that early. He went back up to the bedroom and retrieved his gun from the nightstand, tucking it behind his back in the waistband of his pants, and then grabbed the keys.

As he drove around the streets he quickly realized how "small town" the area was. Houses were made into local family businesses, the church he passed had families names on the sign, thanking them for their contributions, and the few people he saw stared at his vehicle like he was from another planet. As he parked the SUV in the small lot next to the diner, he took in the time and noticed he was right on time as the morning sun started to peek over the Atlantic.

Getting out, he locked the door as he saw an older man looking to be in his 80's walk out of the diner's front door. Bobby smiled a little as they walked toward each other.

"Never seen you around here before, you a tourist?" the old man asked as he dug into the breast pocket on his shirt for a matchbook.

Bobby debated about how to answer that and finally settled on, "Uh, not really. I'm from Brooklyn."

"Ah, then you're here for the summer," the old man said as stuck a cigar in his mouth and lit it.

That would work. Bobby gave a nod as he took some change out of his pocket and bought a paper from the stand by the door.

The old man stuck out his hand, saying, "I'm Jack, my friends call me J.R.."

"Robert, but everybody calls me Bobby," he said as they shook hands.

J.R. pointed to the diner and told him, "Well, Bobby, this is my place. If you want some breakfast, go on in. My wife Lilly is the best cook in town."

"Yeah, thanks," he said as he opened the door, leaving the old man to smoke alone outside.

Being the first customer of the day, he was greeted to the empty diner and the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Sliding onto a stool at the counter, he picked up the menu that was already out and looked it over. At seeing the words take-out, he smiled as an older woman approached with a wide smile on her face. The name tag on her apron read Lilly .

"You don't look like a fisherman?"

"Oh?" he asked as he sat the menu down. He was dressed in a pair of cargo shorts and a short sleeve button-down flannel, his sneakers and no socks, just the way he liked it.

Leaning against the counter, she said good-naturedly, "You look like a cop."

Bobby nearly laughed as he gave a nod. "You're good."

She laughed a little as she told him, "Not that good, hansom. My daddy was a cop and you have that same look. So, hon, coffee to start you off?"

"Yes, please. Regular."

"Didn't take you for the decaf type," she said as she walked over to the coffee pots.

He heard the door chime, indicating someone had walked in and looked toward the door. Three men walked in together and headed for a booth by the front windows.

"Morning fellas," Lilly called out to the men as she grabbed the regular coffee pot and an empty cup.

"Morning, Lilly," one of the men called out. "Coffee all around."

Bobby checked the time and wondered if he had enough time to stay and read the paper or to hurry up and get back. He probably did. Alex had gone to bed the same time as him, but unlike him, she was troubled by his demons. She would still be asleep.

"I'll be right with you, " she told the man before addressing him. "Late for something already? The day's just getting started," she said as she placed the empty cup in front of him and filled it.

Bobby smiled a little, rubbing as the stubble on his chin as he asked, "It doesn't say on the menu but do you make egg-white omelets?"

She gave him a look and said, "You're not wearing a wedding ring but I'm certain the egg-white isn't for you."

Bobby was really liking this woman as he smiled a little. "Not a wife, no, but a...long-term partner. She's still asleep, that's why I was checking the clock."

"I gotcha, hon. Two orders to go then?" she asked as she took out her order book and pen.

"Three, actually. We have a-a, uh, a twenty-two year old."

"Son, daughter?"

Bobby took a sip of the coffee and tried not to choke on it as she asked that. He nodded a little as he said, "A girl, yeah."

Lilly gave him some parting words of advice on parenting, and about calling his adult daughter a 'girl', before taking his three orders down and then disappearing into the kitchen.

As he flipped the paper over and begun reading the top stories, he wondered how Alex would react to the town thinking that she was his girlfriend and that Stacey was their daughter. Probably the same way he was taking it, with an amused smirk on his face.

Over an hour later, he returned to the house with two bags containing Styrofoam take-out containers and a drink holder that held three large cups of coffee and one large cup of orange juice. He put one bag on the island in the middle of the kitchen and the other in the refrigerator. Grabbing a coffee, he took a sip as he headed through the first floor and out onto the porch.

The sun was full and round over the horizon as it heated his face while he sat on the steps and pulled out a pack of cigarettes he'd bought from the corner store that had been next to the diner. As he smoked, he watched the fishing vessels and tugs slowly cross the open ocean before him. He watched as the birds swooped down then up, darting around trying to caught a bite to eat from the fishing lure and nets. Once he had smoked one and finished half his coffee, he got up and went back inside.

He could hear a shower going upstairs as he walked by the staircase and down the hall into the kitchen. At seeing the door to the basement, he remembered how Alex said she hadn't checked it last night. He sat the cup down and opened the door and flipped on the light. He reached around his back for his gun, even though he knew he wouldn't need it, before descending the steps.

As soon as he reached the bottom, he relaxed and put the gun back. To his left was a door that lead into a huge laundry room, storage space, and off that was where the hot water heater, circuit box, and furnace were located. The rest of the basement had been remodeled into a home gym.

"Alex is going to love this place," he muttered to himself as he looked around.

At hearing someone in the kitchen, he hurried up the steps and turned off the light.

Speaking of Alex, she was standing at the island with a huge smile on her face. Her hair was still wet from the shower and pulled back. When she saw him, she said, "I knew there was a reason why I keep you around."

Bobby opened one bag and search through the take-out containers. The top one was his order, the second one was Alex's, and the third one he hoped Stacey would like, which contained something of everything. "There's another bag in the refrigerator," he told her as he placed a box in front of her.

Alex turned around and opened the refrigerator to grab the other bag as Stacey entered the room.

She was still in her pajamas and had a purple robe tied tightly around her body. On her feet he noticed a pair of fuzzy pink slippers. Stacey sat down at the counter and asked, "Are they all coffee? "

"No, uh..." Bobby looked the cups over and saw the one marked with a black marker. "This one's orange juice."

"And there's apple, grape juice and milk boxes in here," Alex said as she sat the other bag on the island. "As well as fruit and yogurt. Help yourself."

Bobby sat the third container in front of Stacey as he told her, "I hope you're not a picky eater because I didn't know what you'd like, so..."

Stacey flipped the lid opened and then looked up at him. "Did you get everything on the menu?"

He shrugged, saying, "Just about." At the bottom of the bag were loads of wrapped plastic silverware and napkins. Tossing those in the middle, he announced, "Dig in."

It didn't take long before they were all relishing in the food, juice, and coffee.

"What's down there?" Stacey asked a little while later, pointing toward the basement door with the spoon full of yogurt in her hand.

"Laundry room and, uh, Eames, you're going to love this...A home gym complete with two treadmills, a stationary bike, weightlifting set, flat screen TV, stereo, and yoga mats."

Alex's eyes lit up at yoga mats and she said, "Wow, the department goes all out for these safe houses. I'm impressed."

Bobby smiled a little as he looked over at Stacey. "So, I was thinking once we all finish eating we could go into town and get some groceries."

"All of us?" Stacey asked as she lifted the Styrofoam lid of the takeout box and picked up a plastic fork.

"Yeah, that way we can all get what we want. Eames here went...vegetarian on me. What about you?"

Stacey glanced over at Alex as she said, "I can't live without a good burger or steak."

Bobby chuckled as he took a bite of his ham and cheese omelet with peppers, onion, and mushroom. "I agree, and I saw a grill in the garage."

"Hey," Alex said as she cut a piece of the egg white omelet he'd gotten for her and glared over at him. "Because of my recipes, and all the lunches I've been bringing you, I've gotten you down a few sizes, Mister I-can't-go-a-day-without-bad-carbs-and-soda."

"Bad carbs or not, it's damn good food."

Alex just rolled her eyes at him and shook her head. "And beyond what you'd like to believe, you're not 40 anymore."

"Which is exactly why I shouldn't have to give up steak or pasta," Bobby said as he took a glance over at Stacey.

She seemed a little lost in her own world, but relaxed non-the-less. The friendly banter and light teasing had helped to set her at ease, and that was what he was hoping for. He could imagine the kind of chaos and turmoil she'd been living for so long.

"And why's that?"

"Because I've lived the first forty years of my adult life trying to impress women, and now I no longer have anyone to impress. I'm fifty, single, and pretty soon I'm going to be retired. This is the time of my life to enjoy what I can. Work, food-"

"Don't you think you've been having too much enjoyment?" Stacey asked with a hint of a smirk on her face.

Bobby sat staring at her for a moment and then smiled a little. "I'm glad to hear your sense of humor's returning."

Stacey got up from the island and as she went to leave the room, said with a slight amused smile on her face, "Who said I was joking?"

Bobby watched her leave the room before looking over at Alex. "It's like having another you around here, isn't it?"

"Oh, please, if anything she's reminding me of you." Alex took a few more bites of her food and was done. As she finished off the rest of her coffee, she looked over at him and smirked. "You're good. In one setting you got her to not only relax and maybe feel like she was a part of us, but you informed her that she has nothing to be afraid of being here is us, or with you."

Bobby smiled at little as he cleared the island of the empty food containers and to-go cups. "I know that feeling, you know. Being around new people, in a new environment, and not knowing what to expect...It can be nerve-wrecking. And add to that her past experiences with sexual abuse, she needed to know that there's no danger here."

"I thought she already felt safe with you?"

He tossed the trash away in the bags he'd brought the food back in as he told her, "Maybe she did then, but...the mind, it can do some funny things, make people forget. She could feel some security just knowing I'm a cop, but the more I'm around her the less she'll continue seeing me as a cop."

"She'll start seeing you as a man."

"Right, and maybe her mind will try and convince her that I'm a man who might want to hurt her. The last thing we need is for her to turn against me, or the both of us. The more we re-enforce to her that this is a safe environment, the better off we're going to be at helping her regain her strength and confidence," he said as he started for the front porch. He needed another smoke.

As he lit one up, he heard the sliding door open and glanced over his shoulder to see Alex coming out to sit next to him on the steps. Before she could say anything, he said, "I know."

She peered over at him as she sipped on the last of her cup of coffee. "Know what?"

"I'm breaking my 'no smoking' rule."

She smirked slightly as she asked, "I wasn't going to ask, but now that you bring it up..."

He leaned on his knees as he stared down at the chipped faded grey colored steps. "It's nothing," he told her as he shook his head. He couldn't do this now...He wouldn't do this now.

"It's something if it's causing you to smoke again. You're doing so good, Bobby. Working out three times a week, watching what you eat and drink, even riding a bike to work all the way from Brooklyn. Something's going on if you're buying those."

Sighing, he said, "I haven't been able to sleep a full night since...since my birthday." Looking over at her, he explained, "I keep thinking about it."

Alex frowned in confusion, asking, "Which part? It was a good night."

"Yeah," he said as he looked away, back down at the steps and then over the dune toward the water. "It was. It's just..." he trailed off as his nerves started to get to him. He felt the anxiety and the anger rushing up from his depths. Focusing his breathing, and trying not to sound like he was accusing her, said, "It was the first time we had any physical contact since I kissed you in the captain's office when you fired me. And, the last time before that was...was...that night."

Alex had stiffened next to him and he couldn't blame her. They hadn't talked about that night in nearly two years. Not since he left New York, not since he returned from his mission with the FBI, bringing Ross's killer to justice...not since she told him they didn't love each other.

"I don't know, but...it's been on my mind a lot and I can't get it out," he finally said as he took a glance over at her.

She was looking out toward the ocean, a faint frown on her lips as her eyes knitted against the sunlight. "I told you that there was nothing wrong with a friendly kiss between-"

"They seemed like more than friendly pecks on the cheek, Alex," he said bitterly, maybe a little too bitter.

She stared over at him as she said, "What're you trying to say? That you want-"

"I don't know what I'm trying to say or what I want," he bit out, cutting her off. This wasn't about that; it was about her not knowing what she wanted. Or that maybe she did but was too scared to admit it. "All I know is every time I think we're past..._that_, you do something that throws me off, like kissing me, on the lips, more than once. I'm not the one going around-" he stopped as he turned away from her prying eyes and hard stare. She looked ready to hit him.

"Going around and what, Bobby?! What am I possibly doing-"

"You're..." he sighed as the tried not to get angry as he heard the anger in her voice. "I mean do you have any idea what you do to me?"

"What I'm doing? Look who's talking-"

He turned to her, feeling his anger getting the best of him as he said, "Me! I'm not the one leading you around in circles! I'm not the one going over to your apartment on your birthday and trying to make out with you on your couch."

"Oh, christ," she said as she got up and headed toward the door. "Stop taking everything so literally."

"How am I supposed to take it?! Figuratively? I can't take something that actually, literally happened, and pretend it didn't!" he called out after her as she went inside the house and slammed the sliding door shut.

He finished off the smoke and stood as he went back inside. Going up to the second floor, he heard music coming from the master bedroom as he went into the room he was using and closed the door.

He felt his pulse racing as he sat at the desk, turned on his laptop, and opened a file.

Awhile later, as he was pouring over photos from the car bombing, he heard a tap on the door. Not taking his eyes off the photographs he had sprawled out over the floor, he called out, "Come in!"

The door opened and Alex stood in the entryway, arms crossed over her chest. She was wearing a pair of workout sweats, a tank-top, and running shoes as she asked, "Do you want to go back to us not speaking?"

He glanced up at her as he shook his head, "No."

"Okay. And I'm sorry you can't sleep, but that's something you've got to work out for yourself. I can't help you with that." She turned and shut the door behind her, leaving him staring at the closed door.

After a brief moment, he sighed and closed his eyes as he felt his head start to pound. Reaching up, he rubbed at it as he stood from kneeling over the photos and started to pace around the small area that held no photos, files, or loose paperwork.

That hadn't been what he was trying to tell her; she'd taken it all wrong, and that angered him even more. He shouldn't have said anything; he should have just kept quiet. But he'd been trying to be more open with her lately, as part of his therapy.

He was trying to convey to her that he trusted her enough with his thoughts and feeling, and one of the ways he did that was to not lie to her. To not shut down when she tried to get too personal.

And when he did, when he let her know what was troubling him...she attacked him! He stopped his pacing as he turned and hit the closet door, hard. The pain vibrated up his arm, into his shoulder, but it wasn't enough to deter him from doing it again.

He huffed out a breath of frustration as he went back to pacing, closed his eyes, and tried to focus once again on his breathing. On letting it go.

It wasn't working. Pulling out his cell phone, he searched for a contact and hit 'call'.

After a couple of rings, she answered, "Dr. Paula Gyson."

"Hey, it's Goren."

"Hello, detective. How are you?"

He rubbed at his neck as he started to move around the room as he said, "I'm...I-,uh, I lost it, just know. I punched a door a couple of times."

"Are you injured?" she asked as worry crept into her voice.

"No, I'm fine, I'm..."

"What happened to cause you to lose it like that?"

Bobby stopped pacing as he rubbed his hand over his eyes and sighed, "I tried to talk to Eames about...about a personal situation..." He had to be vague as he had yet to confide in the doctor about his history with Alex.

He had been lying when he'd told Gyson that Alex was like a sister to him. At that time, he'd only seen the doctor as someone reporting to the Brass about his ability to be a cop and Alex's partner. How could he tell her that he did love her? That maybe he did have romantic feelings for her, when he believed that Gyson would report it to the Chief. He couldn't, so he didn't.

He suspected that she knew already. He didn't think that she believed him, but he wasn't about to protect too much. He wasn't about to tell her that him and Alex had crossed that line a few years ago; that they had had sex. Nope, he definitely wasn't going to tell her that.

"You opened yourself up to her, confronted her, and she responded negatively?"

He stopped hesitating as he nodded into the phone. He liked it that she could pick up on what he was trying to say without having to come right out and say it. "Yeah."

"What were you expecting? In your head, what were in imagining as her response?"

Shrugging, he said, "I don't know. I really didn't think about it...I guess...I,uh, I guess all I was hoping for was understanding."

"How about her?"

He wrinkled his head in confusion as he asked, "What'd you mean, what about her?"

Gyson was quiet for a moment and he could tell she was smirking at him. "Put yourself in her shoes, detective. What about her feelings? If the it was her confronting you, how would've you reacted?"

He sighed as he started to pace again around the floor. This was something they'd been working on. He was good at reading people, at seeing their strengths and weakness, at reading their emotional state, but he'd mostly used that to his own advantage without taking into consideration what he was doing to them emotionally, as long as he was pushing them to the point of giving him what he wanted: mostly that meant a confession.

"She...she probably thought I was attacking her. Accusing her of...of-" he stopped as he thought of the look on her face. "She had every right to be offended. It's my fault."

"No one's at fault. You felt what you felt for legitimate reasons or else it wouldn't have bothered you. You wouldn't have felt a need to voice your concern or opinion to her. And her emotions were also a genuine response. So, what'd you think you should do about it?"

"Keep my mouth shut next time," he teased slightly. She wasn't amused, and he could tell that because she didn't say anything. "Talk to her."

"And this time, leave your expectations at the door. Go to her openly to not only express yourself freely but to also freely accept her opinion and emotions as well. You can't get angry at every time you get your wires crossed with someone. I thought we were over that."

Bobby smiled into the phone as he remembered the first time he went off on Gyson when they had a misunderstanding. "We are, but I guess me and Eames aren't. Thanks, doc."

"Good luck, and I'll see you next week? Or was it two?"

"It's uncertain at this time." He didn't tell her why he had to leave for a week or two, only that it was for a case. She never even asked him for that much, just accepted it without question and knowing he would be back.

They said their goodbye's and hung up. He stared at the case file spread out over the floor as he thought about what they'd discussed. Going back over to the photos, he knelt down on his knees and started picking them up, one by one.

It was the second to last picture. A speck of light he thought was a glare caught his attention. Bringing the picture up, he studied it more closely and realized it wasn't a glare, but a flash. Someone had been taking pictures of the scene, of the police and the CSU's, from behind the crime scene tape.

It could've been anyone, an onlooker, a reporter, but it could also be the bomber. Just like serial killers, they liked to return to the scene of the crime. They would want to keep a memento.

He went over to the desk and sat down as he opened up his email. He took down the letter and number printed on the back of the photo that was used to ID the piece of evidence. He typed a quick email to Douglas, telling him about the picture and to go back to the video that was taken of the press and bystanders who'd been standing around during that time. Maybe they had this guy on video.

After he sent the email, he gathered the rest of the file up and put it away before leaving the room. It was time to go shopping.

TBC...


End file.
